Amber
by Shadowdust258
Summary: Four Stages of Rickon and Shireen's Journey.


**This will be a two-chapter story. I hope you enjoy! :)**

Shireen did not know what to make of this boy.

The girl who saw everything was never seen. She prided herself on being able to read people, accurately and quickly, but Rickon Stark still remained a mystery to her. In her nine years, she had been invisible to all but a few. Even those who did see her tended to look straight through her, or mayhaps they picked a spot on the wall to stare at instead. It wasn't nice, but Shireen could not find it in herself to blame them. Mostly, she tried to avoid seeing her face as well.

But three weeks ago, Rickon Stark had arrived at the Wall with Davos and that great beast he called Shaggydog. Rumours of his fierceness had preceded him, and even before his arrival, Shireen had heard stories of his unruly behaviour, and her mother had warned her that he would undoubtedly play too rough and that she should not harbour any notions about having a new playmate.

In the evenings, Shireen liked to do needlework by herself in one of the highest rooms of the King's Tower. Friends were hard to come by at Castle Black, and Shireen did not like the strange looks the men of the Night's Watch gave towards her greyscale, but those looks were nothing compared to the horrified glances the wildlings threw at her whenever she was in their presence. In truth, she would rather be alone than face them, and it was not like anyone ever asked for her company anyway.

That was why she was surprised when he strode in one day, his wolf licking at his heels, and sat himself on the rug opposite her. In the glow of the fire, his red hair shone even brighter, and Shireen wished her hair was as pretty a colour as his. She has heard the wildlings say it meant the bearer was 'kissed by fire', and she could not help but agree with them. The flames of the open fire reflected in his Tully blue eyes that first night, and Shireen had the oddest thought. When the Greyjoys had taken control of Winterfell, they had not just set fire to the buildings. They had set fire to his soul, and, now, he carried inside him the burning caricature of the boy he used to be. A lump had appeared in her throat when she prayed for someone to sew the broken pieces of this boy back together again. In between stitches, she studied him, sneaking quick glances in his direction. Although, she could see that the anger never left his eyes, she found that he did not seem as frightening as his stories had made him out to be. Even still, it took almost an entire hour for her to work up the courage to speak to him. Swallowing thickly, she commented, "They told me you were wild."

"They told me you were tame," he returned, his eyes locking with hers.

"Were they wrong?" she asked, not able to hide the blush that flared up on one cheek.

"I haven't decided yet," was all the reply she received.

She kind of liked it his way. Every evening, Shireen would retire to this room after dinner, and an hour later Rickon would join her, his wolf trotting behind. He did not speak a lot, but then again neither did she. Sometimes he played with wooden toys while she did needlework, sometimes he asked her to read a book aloud, sometimes she tried to teach him the game of Cyvasse, and, once, when he was feeling particularly generous, he allowed her to pet his direwolf. Shireen knew she was the first person at Castle Black to get that privilege, and she also knew that not many arms survived touching the fearsome wolf, so she felt especially lucky that she had received approval from both the wolf and his master.

Outside this room, Rickon was still prone to tempers, but that changed in here. This dirty room, with the worn rug, and the open fireplace became their sanctuary.  
This was the place where two children went when they were too lonely to be alone.

It took two weeks for Shireen to realise that Rickon was the only person who had never flinched away from her face, and, with a wan smile, she thought of the fact that nobody else had ever seen that the best gift they could have given her was just to treat her like she was normal.

* * *

Shireen was scared.

They were the children who had had their childhoods ripped away for the price of a throne. She sometimes wondered if it was worth it. Her father had been fighting for the Iron Throne for so many years now, but Shireen constantly yearned for Dragonstone instead of the Red Keep. She had never particularly liked it when she was younger, but it was _home_, and all she really wanted right now was a home.

His howls echoed in the night. A phrase Davos had uttered when Rickon had been brought to the Wall five years ago came to mind. _"Wolves don't do well being caged,"_ he had said, and Shireen couldn't disagree. The Lannister guards that prowled outside their cells were growing increasingly frustrated at his howling for his lost wolf, and had tried to beat him into silence more than once in the week since they had been captured. The muffled sounds that had come from his cell and the ugly insults they had thrown at her friend had bit at her soul, and Shireen knew that she had spent far more time crying for Rickon this past week than she had spent crying for herself.

Flashes of her childhood began to swim through her mind. They were grainy memories, but a warm, safe feeling pooled in her abdomen nonetheless. She remembered playing in the gardens with her cousin, Edric, and, as a salty tear trailed down her cheek, she thought of the time he had promised he would always come save her whenever she needed to be saved. But Edric was tucked safely away in Lys and he was probably never going to get the chance to be the brave, noble knight he had always wanted to be, and Shireen was starting to doubt that there was anyone coming to save her.

The bitter clang of Rickon's cell door rang out into the night, and Shireen could hear the angry shouts of a guard as he entered. In a vain attempt to block out what she knew would happen next, she covered her ears. Her hands never managed to block out the sounds completely, but, it helped a little. Surprisingly, tonight it was a different sound that penetrated the feeble barriers her hands acted as. The harsh, gasping breath of a man reached her ears, and, Shireen crawled over to the wooden bars at the front of her cell to see if she could make out what was happening outside.

Startled, she saw Rickon outside her cell. He looked terrible. Even in the dim lighting Shireen could see how puffy his face looked, in contrast to his increasingly scrawny frame. Cuts and bruises littered his body, and Shireen remembered all the times he had gotten injured in the past few years and had only allowed her to tend to his wounds.

Without a word, he tossed something through the lower bars of her cell. Swallowing thickly, she realised it was a dagger, and a shiver fluttered down her spine when she discovered it was already slick with blood.

She glanced at him again, and she saw it in his eyes.

_You're going to have to save yourself._

It took only a moment for Rickon to disappear around the corner, and Shireen felt dread curdle the blood in her veins. Taking a long, deep breath, she willed herself to be brave. Ours is the Fury, she thought, remembering her House words. Shireen Baratheon had come from a long line of impressive warriors, but, until this day, not one person had ever treated her as anything more than just a fragile, little girl who needed to be protected. She found herself oddly thankful that Rickon thought she was capable of saving herself, but, a second later she chastised herself for thanking him too soon. She had to survive first.

Slipping the dagger behind her back, she called for the second guard. He came instantly. She was a valuable hostage after all, but Shireen was tired of her only use in life being as a hostage. As he unlocked the cell door to come inside, she felt fire fill every crevice of her body, and she knew in that moment that she was capable of doing what needed to be done.

He never saw it coming, and as the red blood gushed out of his wound, Shireen felt a little part of her die. Her innocent, she realised, but, with a shake of her head, she thought that innocence had no place in war anyway.

Wiping the bloody dagger on the skirts of her tattered dress, Shireen followed the way Rickon had gone, until a hand reached out and dragged her into an alcove. She did not even have to look to know that it was him, so she did not struggle, though a small smile crept onto her face when she realised that he had not left without her.

Leaning against the jagged stone wall, she drank in the battered body of the younger boy. The Rickon Stark that had arrived at the Wall five years ago was vicious and filled with fire, but, as had grown, that fire had burned brighter and fiercer, and Shireen suspected she would not even be able to grasp at how much resentment and rage still lingered inside him. Indeed, she didn't think she wanted to know. "Thank you," she uttered eventually.

"I didn't save you," he said, almost as if he were daring her to accuse him of caring.

_But you gave me the weapon to save myself_, she thought, but, instead of saying that, she murmured, "You won't be able to live for very long without a heart."

"Longer than I would with one," was the only reply she received.

They escaped into the woods, and ran as hard, as fast, and as long as they could until finally they could run no more.

They made camp, not daring to light a fire, and, as the first hint of a nightmare swept into her dreams, Shireen wondered why nobody had ever warned her that she would have to die in order to survive.


End file.
